Payneful

So if you did a lot of eye-rolling while reading my last post, here's the real deal: not every day on the trail is about speed/sunshine/rainbows/etc. In fact, if you were to study my running and enthusiasm-of for one month, you'd find I usually have three kinds of training days:

1.) ZOMG I LOVE SPEED. It's like I'm just rediscovering that I have feet, and then those shoes! And then HOLY CRAP WHEN I PUT ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER I MOVE. Those are the best days. The ones where I crave to be fast, where I want to see the world become a blur as I push myself harder and harder. Yeah, those days are all shiny running shoes and tubby, annoyingly cheerful angels.

2.) Uhhh, I can just run tomorrow, right? It's cold or something. These are the days where I have to practically drag myself out the door and grudgingly stumble toward the trail. Because, in reality, I could be doing a whole lot cooler things with my day. Like sitting on my ass and eating chips. I like chips.

3.) F*** LIFE. Remember when I talked about coming back from TDE? Those few weeks when I ran just to cause myself pain? Well, those days still come and go. BUT at least I'm channeling my frustration into something productive, right? I think?

Today was an example of the third. Somehow, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and by breakfast I was practically fuming about my situation. I barely have money, I have no job prospects, no one will hire me, I don't even have my own place, blah blah blah. My parents politely inquired if I could do a few things around the house, and I was all OHMYGAWD I'M BUSY CAN'T YOU SEE LIFE IS TOTALLY SHAFTING ME RIGHT NOW? And then after a bit of quiet huffing/puffing, I decided that I needed to punish myself. I needed to feel pain - because with pain, there comes strength. So I laced-up and stomped out the door.

According to the schedule, I had a 4-mile, easy jog today. But where's the pain in 4 miles? In doing things easy? No, today would be 7 miles. Today would be as hard as I could go for as long as possible. I wanted that stitch my side, and that strain of my muscles. I wanted that feeling at the end of a run where all you want to do is throw-up and curl into the fetal position. If life wanted to push me, I would push myself harder, and I would come out the other side stronger.

So I ran. My legs screamed at me. My lungs felt like they were going to collapse. My stomach felt like it would want nothing more than to evacuate the local population onto the pavement. And you know what? At the end of the run, my crappy mood was gone. Along with any feeling in my arms or face.

To tell you the truth, I don't know if trying to break myself like I do on these off days is a good idea. But I do know it helps me feel productive. After these runs, I feel like maybe I'm not just a lump of useless flesh, you know? Like maybe I'm still capable, even if I haven't been able to find a job...

Annnyway, if you ever see a guy running around Wilmington with an iPod strapped to his arm and a light blue beanie on his head, that's me! And then you can point and laugh at the crazy kid, because who actually wears beanies anymore? Huh? Amirite?

I am human.

I was wrapping-up my stretching as the last of the evening light struggled through the leaves, casting shifting shadows on the ground that seemed to dance with the wind. It was an incredibly peaceful moment, sitting there quietly in the cool dirt, staring at the winding asphalt trail ahead of me that disappeared into the trees some hundred yards beyond. As I switched to the other knee and pulled it to my chest, I half expected to see another jogger plod into view, lost in their own run. But there was no one else...and that was fine. It was perfect, actually. Who else do you need? I stood up, inhaled deeply, pressed play on my iPod, and took off.

It took only a few strides for my old friend to come swiftly back to me in a rush of chilly air. His presence caused my breath to catch momentarily, my steps to quicken, and my heart to drive a burst of adrenaline throughout my system. My mind welcomed him back with open arms, if only to use him for the painful pleasure that he would bring.

His name was Speed, and I had missed him.

Feeling reunited once again, I drove ahead along the path, the extraordinary beauty of the surrounding scenery becoming a mere sideshow for the main event - a snaking trail that seemed to pull me along. Though ignored, the chortling creek to my right continued to surge forward, cast into shadow by a looming, abandoned, and seemingly ancient factory on the other shore. The sharp face of the cliffs to my left stood steadfast as ever, its dull hues almost coming alive amongst the glowing evening light. This path, this park, this air - they were a runner's dreams. They were seductive and extravagant and alluring in the way that only nature can be, and they were the perfect backdrop for what I came to do tonight. But at the moment, that's all they were - a backdrop.

With the music pounding in my ears, it took me several minutes to realize that I was breathing way too hard. And that's when I was snapped out of Speed's bind, slowing to a more reasonable pace. No, I would not sprint tonight. I would not fly through these woods, pushing myself until my legs screamed and my lungs struggled to function. But knowing that I could, knowing that these trees could become a mere blur if I allowed Speed to ensnare me once more - that's what brought me back to this path, night after night. Knowing that if I worked at it, then the Speed I know could become something even more powerful, more seductive. Knowing that meeting up with this enhanced version of my old friend could mean an even bigger rush - that was worth being a runner. That was worth being a human.

Sometimes we are quick to forget how absolutely extraordinary our bodies are. At their peak, they are strong, swift, and agile...but they can also think, feel, and learn. They have a potential for phenomenal growth, and an awareness to carry it out. They are a combination of the most powerful computers and the most evolved vehicular designs on this planet. But time and time again, we forget what these bodies truly are. And that is holding us back from really feeling what it's like to be human.

But I am lucky. Running has opened a tiny crack in the window to my massive reservoir of human potential. And while I have only barely tasted what it's like to utilize my human body to its maximum ability, it was enough to get me hooked for life. I want more.

I can be amazing. No, I WILL be amazing. Why? Because I am human.

Tis the Season to Kick My Ass

Fa la la la la?

After getting home from what was an awesome weekend in the DC/College Park area - seeing friends, rallying to restore sanity, and having my first beer in weeks...and then my second, third, and fourth - I made the decision that this was the week to kick it up a notch. By which I mean, this was the week to kick my own ass.

In the past few weeks, my running workout hasn't changed too much - two days of light 3-4 mile runs, one fartlek-run day (usually 3 miles), one speed-training day (6 x 400 sprints, then 6 x 200 sprints), and then one long-run day (about 6.5 miles). The two days I take off for rest depend more on my work schedule than anything else, but I try not to follow a high-intensity run with another high-intensity run. But this week? HA.

On Monday, somewhere in the middle of my run (a fartlek session), I decided to add a mile - which, while by no means an impressive feat, was enough to draw my breath in jagged gasps at the end. And it felt good. Then came today, when - while warming up - I decided that it was a good day to run my 3.25 miles (the length of my course) at race-pace. Because I hadn't done that in a while, and wasn't it time? So that's what I did.

Flash back two weeks when I ran a 5k race around the park near our house and, embarrassingly, trodded across the finish line at 25 minutes, 31 seconds. I was mortified - times like 21 and 22 minutes used to come so easily to me, and yet here I was, huffing and puffing at a bit over 8 minutes per mile. I have never been overweight (not from lack of trying, though), but I knew that I was more out-of-shape then I had been in quite a while. And those 21 and 22 minute races only came easily when I had been involved in some sort of sport at the time. This...slowness...that I was experiencing now - that had to stop.

Traveling back to the present, I chugged across the end of my run - clutching at the stitch in my side and breathing in sharp, labored gasps - and glared at my watch, daring it to be anything around 25. And it wasn't. I had knocked about 4 minutes off that 5k time and rolled in at 21 minutes, 37 seconds.

Was I ecstatic? Absolutely not - my personal best is 20 minutes, 5 seconds, and my goal for Thanksgiving is to run under 19 minutes, so I have a lot more work to do. BUT, I knew this was a start. Throughout my run today, most of the pain seemed to stem more from my lungs than my legs, which means that with a few more weeks of conditioning, I might very well reach my goal. And this, more than anything else, is the reason that it's the perfect time to kick my own ass.

So, here's what my next 2 weeks are going to look like:

- 2 light runs, 4-5 miles

- 2 fartlek sessions, 4 miles

- 1 day speed intervals (200's, 400's, and 800's)

- 1 day long run, 6.5 miles

Around mid-November, I'm going to up my mileage in some regards, while also trying focus on finding my perfect race-pace. Until that time, though, I will work hard.

And will blink away the chilly-wind-induced tears out of my eyes.

And I will ignore the stabs of pain that come with every breath.

And I will revel in the after-run soreness that protests my every move.

Because this is what it means to be a runner, and that's exactly what I intend to be.